


Revelations

by ReneeTheAngelAndPartTimeRareBookDealer



Series: The Ineffable Anthology [2]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: AGAIN I SAY, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, bc they're idiots, in the heat of an argument, no less, one of them's drinking, they're gay!, unintentional confession
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-08-10 07:03:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20131300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReneeTheAngelAndPartTimeRareBookDealer/pseuds/ReneeTheAngelAndPartTimeRareBookDealer
Summary: An angel is mad at a demon, typical. Said demon seeks forgiveness from said angel, not so typical.Maybe they bicker like children. Maybe drinks are involved. Maybe certain truths are revealed.One thing is certain, Revelations foretells the end of a world.





	Revelations

To any outsider (essentially, everybody besides the two individuals themselves) this looked like a peculiar one-sided argument. Both beings, however, were fuming. 

It began on a Tuesday morning - it goes without saying, but tensions were high. Aziraphale could never comprehend why the mortals hated Monday’s when Tuesday’s existed. He found them positively dull. 

Crowley, in typical demon fashion, found every day unbearable, but especially those when the angel was upset with him. 

He couldn’t recall what he’d said to offend his friend, though there was plenty to choose from.

Aziraphale entered his bookshop first, quiet and polite, nodding at what few customers prowled the stacks. 

Crowley burst in seconds later - the exact opposite. His barely restrained anger was a palpable force, and the humans could feel his glare beneath the black designer shades. While generally slow, as species went, they were perceptive. 

Seeing the two individuals standing as they were — Aziraphale with hands shoved deep into the pockets of his trench coat, back to Crowley; and said demon with one hand on his hip and the other rapping its fingers against the nearest table impatiently — the shoppers quickly exited, books forgotten. 

Crowley flipped the sign to closed and locked the door behind them. 

“Alright,” he groaned, turning to face Aziraphale’s back. “Let’s hear it.”

“I have nothing to say to you.”

“Come off it, of course you do.” 

The demon walked around and planted himself in front of his friend. “You always have something to say.”

Aziraphale met his gaze, eyes unforgiving, and moved to tidy up a nearby shelf without another word. 

“I’ve upset you, then?”

A haughty sound between a laugh and a scoff was his only response. 

_Well, right about something,_ the demon thought. 

As the angel walked further into the bookshop, Crowley followed. Aziraphale was heading towards their den, straight to an unholy assembly of liquor. Although he thought it unwise to introduce alcohol into their current volatile mix, the demon was never one to object. 

“For satan’s sake,” he cried, straining to keep up with his friend, “can you at least tell me what I did wrong?”

He was brought to an abrupt stop when the angel suddenly whirled on him. “Not realizing is part of the problem, isn’t it?” 

He pushed the demon for good measure. 

It hardly knocked Crowley back, but the intent landed harder than any physical blow ever could.

Looking at Aziraphale now, gentle features distorted by anger — directed at _him — _Crowley paused. He thought long and hard, trying his absolute damnedest to pinpoint which of his various missteps had gone a step too far. 

The two remained frozen for several minutes. Aziraphale, brimming with ire, and Crowley, succumbing to worry and desperation. 

Finally, the demon asked, hesitantly, “is this about me calling God a sadist?”

Aziraphale laughed, despite his anger. 

“No, Crowley,” he sighed, resuming his slow march towards the den. “It’s not.”

The demon trailed wordlessly after him, watching intently as the angel’s shoulders slumped and the last of his fire seemed to dissipate.

When they reached the den, Aziraphale sat in his large leather armchair, grabbed the nearest bottle of whiskey, and poured it unceremoniously into a teacup. He took a drink, finished it all in one go, and poured some more. 

Crowley observed all this, realized that he was not going to be offered a drink, and sat down as far away from the angel as the den permitted, waiting.

“What are you still doing here?” The angel asked, impatient.

“I’m not leaving until I get a proper answer.” 

Aziraphale scoffed and took a generous sip.

“Fine,” the demon grated. “Then I suppose I’ll have to list every offensive remark I’ve made in the past twenty-four hours, and you’ll confirm which it is.”

The angel lifted the teacup to his lips once more and peered at Crowley over the rim, eyes gleaming. _Well, go on then, _they seemed to taunt. 

The demon obliged, his words coming out in one long, barely distinguishable rush. “God is a sadist. Humans are _not_ worth saving. I’ve yet to meet a catholic middle aged woman who was not an absolute bitch. Sure, Hell might’ve invented racism, but Heaven certainly condones the practice. I _wish_ I could find your flaming sword so I could shove it right up Gabriel’s ass. Your shoes look absolutely _terrible_-”

“You never said that last part,” Aziraphale interrupted. 

Crowley winked, “just making sure you were paying attention, angel. Have I got it yet?”

Aziraphale shook his head, and the demon continued, “when you look at it, _really_ look at it, God and humanity are in a toxic relationship. Women being barred from becoming priests is sexist. Blind faith is not, never has been, and never will be a virtue. Now, you and I both know that humans aren’t the brightest creatures, but believing in love? The utter idiocy!”

Crowley paused. 

The angel had flinched. Nothing noticeable, not to the human eye at least, but the demon had a millennia of experience when concerning all matters Aziraphale. His suspicions were confirmed when the angel met his gaze from across the room and immediately looked elsewhere. He was nervous. 

“Really?” The demon asked, aghast. “The bit about love?” 

Aziraphale stood and walked out of the den. Crowley remained seated, completely dumbfounded, until the angel’s voice brought him back. 

“Yes,” Aziraphale called from somewhere amongst the stacks. “And I have no desire to be mocked right n-” 

There was a heavy sigh, followed by, “Crowley, where the bloody hell are you?” 

“Right here,” he smirked, materializing beside the angel.

Aziraphale stiffened, but otherwise kept his composure, much to the demon’s disappointment. 

They faced the shop door, saying nothing. 

“Is there something we need to talk about?” Crowley began to ask.

Just as Aziraphale grabbed the doorknob and said, “I think it's best that you leave now.” 

The demon looked from his friend’s hand to his face, momentarily stunned. 

“I don’t think I will.”

“Please.” 

Crowley winced at the pain he could hear in that one word, hating himself for putting it there. “I’m sorry,” he said. While, physically, the words hurt him, seeing the shock on the angel's face made it well worth it. 

The demon continued, “could you please tell me why my words upset you?”

Aziraphale watched him skeptically. He, for one, had never expected Crowley to genuinely apologize, let alone say please, in the same sentence.

“Love is _not_ idiotic,” he answered. “On the contrary, it's what gives the mortals’ purpose. It makes them brave, not the brightest, but certainly endearing. They’re absolute marvels when they’re in love.”

Crowley tried his best not to laugh, but he couldn’t stop a small snicker from slipping out. “Sorry,” he coughed, “but you speak so highly of it. As if you you’ve experienced it.” 

“And if I have?”

It was the demons turn to be surprised. He had to recover quickly.

“I’d be amiss if I didn’t ask who the lucky person is,” he deadpanned.

The angel only stared at him, an intense fire in his eyes and blood rushing to his cheeks. For the life of him, the demon couldn’t tell if Aziraphale was angry or flustered. The end result standing before him, however, _was_ rather cute.

When the realization struck, Crowley could only utter a small, “_oh_.”

“Yes. Oh.” the angel said dejectedly. He took a few steps back before adding, “now please, go. I can’t ask again.” 

“Jesus, Aziraphale!” Crowley hissed. “I never took you for an idiot.”

The angel seethed, blush gone as he crowded the demon’s space until only mere inches separated them. “Do you really think it wise to mock me right now? They let me carry a flaming sword for a reason, Crowley, don’t you forget, and I refuse to let you hurt me further.” 

The demon’s eyes widened at the notion. “It was never my intention to hurt you. You of all beings should know that,” he whispered softly. 

Aziraphale, confronted with such uncharacteristic gentleness, met it with even more uncharacteristic anger. Years of pent up frustration was making its way to the surface, and he wasn’t stopping the bitter ring of his words. 

“Hm, should I?”

“Yes,” Crowley responded cooly, meeting the angel’s fire with ice, “because against my better judgement, I love you.”

The words were a douse of cold water, shocking both of them into silence.

The angel, for lack of holy eloquence, released a weak, “_oh_.” 

“Yes, oh,” the demon repeated. 

Aziraphale opened his mouth, stopped, and then tried again. “Do you really?” He asked, disbelieving. 

Crowley didn’t try to stop his laugh this time. It was loud and desperately trying to compensate for the nerves threatening to overwhelm him. 

“I thought I was rather obvious,” he said, breathless. “Did my flirting these past centuries go so unnoticed? Or the multiple times I deliberately put myself in perilous situations just to be by your side?”

The angel’s blush was growing with every word, and it spurred the demon on. 

“I’ll have you know, I don’t walk on consecrated ground for just anybody.” 

Aziraphale smiled at that. 

“No, you don’t,” he whispered.

The two stood in an awkward, hopeful silence. Neither knowing what to do with their hands, or the space between them. 

Crowley was staring at the angel’s mouth, delightful ideas taking shape in his mind, when Aziraphale asked, “Why did you never say anything?”

“I said plenty,” the demon replied snidely. “But you’re an angel, literally speaking, and I wasn’t about to tarnish your spirit without knowing for certain that you felt the same way.”

“How considerate of you.”

“Only for you, Aziraphale,” Crowley replied wistfully. He wanted desperately to reach out and touch the angel’s face, hold his hand, hug him close, to do all manner of things — but still, he hesitated. 

“I could ask you the same question, old friend,” the demon stalled. “Why did you never approach me with this romantic interest?” 

Aziraphale choked on a laugh before wheezing, “honestly?” 

Crowley lowered his glasses, snake eyes peering over the lenses expectantly.

The angel swallowed as he fought a shiver. “Ridiculous,” he muttered. “You pride yourself on being an unapproachable bastard! Dismissing the notion of love at turn did little to encourage me either!” 

“I stand by what I said,” the demon affirmed.

“That love is idiotic.”

“Yes.”

“How could you possibly say that?”

Crowley stared, and then gestured between them. “You think this here is _sane_?”

Aziraphale huffed. “I see your point.” 

As the angel turned to leave, the demon reached out and grabbed his hand, stopping his retreat. 

“Aziraphale, when have you ever known me to be a fan of sense. I _am_ a demon, lest you forget, and I thrive off of chaos.” He tugged on his arm then so that they were facing each other once more, and continued, “I, for one, am more than willing to see where this goes. That is, if you’ll join me?” 

The question was Crowley’s shot in the dark. He didn’t know what he would do if Aziraphale rejected him now. His heart was was seizing and his grip on the angel’s hand tightened with every passing moment.

Aziraphale wasn’t in any better condition — his palms were sweaty (he was sure Crowley could feel it, and mortified) and every language at his disposal had suddenly vanished from his mind. Failed by his words, and unable to meet the demon’s gaze, he did what he’d been wanting to do for ages. 

He let go of the demon’s hand, threw his arms around his neck, and burrowed his head into his chest, nearly knocking him over in the process. 

“I’m afraid,” the angel mumbled. 

Crowley was floored, certain that Aziraphale could hear his rapid heart now. Slowly, he wrapped his arms around the angel, and began to rub soothing circles into his back. 

“Of me?” 

There was a hint of pain in his voice — something Aziraphale had never heard from him before and didn’t know he had the power to cause. 

He found that he didn’t like the sound.

“No,” the angel answered quickly, tightening his hold on the demon. “Never of you. I just — I’d like very much to avoid what the humans call heartbreak. I’ve read it about, you know. It sounds awful.” 

Aziraphale could feel Crowley’s laugh make its way through his chest, and he smiled.

“You do realize that you’re asking a demon not to break your heart?”

“Yes, I’m aware.” 

“Well, in that case,” Crowley paused as he tipped the angel’s face up to meet his, “since I rather fancy that heart of yours, I’ll do my best to care for it.” 

Aziraphale was in a bit of a trance. “Thats all I ask.” 

The demon hummed contentedly, stroking the angel’s cheek absently now as he said, “look at us, you may bring me to your side yet.” 

“I’d much prefer it if we made our own side.” 

Crowley was fixated on Aziraphale’s lips again, and the latter blushed. 

“Sounds perfect.” 

And it was then, surrounded by the smell of ancient parchment and the fading light of day, that a demon tired of waiting kissed an angel soundly. 

**Author's Note:**

> My headcanon is that Aziraphale loves reading human tragedies, and shares them with Crowley all the time.   
Crowley teases him relentlessly, but stays up all night to read them regardless, because he knows it would make a certain someone stupid happy :,)


End file.
